Chapter 1: The Beginning

I’m not sure what happened or how it happened, but here we are—smack dab in the middle of divorce number two. When I got remarried, I swore up and down that I wouldn’t waste another 15 years just to end up in the same place. And yet, here I stand, living that exact reality. Like, seriously, WTF?! But hey, we’re here now, so buckle up because this ride is about to get ridiculous. The first marriage? Oh, that’s old news. Sure, there were some issues there too, but the real chaos didn’t kick in until marriage number two. For context, husband number one was a controlling jerk, and I was too naïve to see it at the time. I wasn’t in love with him—I was in love with the idea of being married. But, to his credit, he did give me two amazing daughters, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. If you’re curious about them, check out the future blog post “Two Daughters and Several Autoimmune Diseases.” Anyway, I divorced him on Valentine’s Day 2012, and by July of that same year, I was walking straight into a whole new mess. And now? Well, let’s just say the foolishness reached new heights. Honestly, I’m cracking up writing this because the absurdity is just too much. How did I get here? Who knows! But stay tuned—there’s plenty more craziness where this came from.

“Divorce isn’t such a tragedy. A tragedy is staying in an unhappy marriage, teaching your children the wrong thing about love. Nobody has ever died of divorce.” -Jennifer Weiner

I met my current husband while we were both working as job coaches in corporate America. At first, it was innocent—just a little flirting here and there. Let’s pause for a moment, though, because I know what you’re thinking. Yes, I was still married at the time. But let me be clear: I had already emotionally left that marriage long before I met him. I was actively planning my exit. My ex-husband, on the other hand, was also seeing someone but refused to admit it. He would try to gaslight me into believing otherwise, but honestly, I didn’t care anymore. I wanted him to leave—it was like trying to get rid of a roach that just wouldn’t go. Finally, I decided to leave instead.

Now, just to backtrack briefly, I’ve been through this kind of foolishness before with my first ex-husband. But let’s save that story for another time and get back to the better part of this one. My now-husband and I started off as coworkers who would jokingly knock things over on each other’s desks, pushing the boundaries of flirtation a little further each time. Before long, we became friends and began taking breaks together. It was fun—more fun than I’d had in years. I never shared the details of my failing marriage with him because I didn’t want pity or for him to try to be the opposite of my ex. I wanted to get to know him for who he genuinely was.

Within a few months, things hit a breaking point with my ex. One night, while our baby was lying on me, he woke me up and hit me with a cellphone he’d found in my bag. That was it. That was the final straw. I didn’t care that my plans weren’t perfectly in place or that I didn’t have everything figured out. I needed to leave. And I want to make this very clear: I didn’t leave my ex for my now-husband. That decision had been a long time coming. That night just accelerated everything.

I moved out within a month, though my ex still had the audacity to go through my belongings even as I was packing up to leave. Eventually, I got my own apartment and officially started seeing my current husband. Yes, I know this is a story about two divorces, and while the second one is still technically ongoing as I write this, the emotional divorce had been finalized long ago.

Starting fresh wasn’t without its challenges, though. My daughters, especially, struggled to understand the situation. To them, it looked like I had moved on too quickly, and I hadn’t considered how they might feel about it. So, we hit the reset button. I invited my now-husband over for dinner, and the girls helped me prepare. That approach made all the difference—they felt like they were part of the process instead of having someone new forced into their lives. It was a turning point for all of us.

Eventually, my husband moved in, and my oldest daughter, who was 10 at the time (she’s now 23), told him to make sure he always keeps a smile on my face because her dad never did. That moment stuck with me. It was such a simple but powerful statement. And honestly, why couldn’t her step-dad have just done that? We wouldn’t have had the foolishness that began if only he had listened to my daughter.

Closing Thoughts and Takeaways

Reflecting on the journey we’ve started together, I hope this shared moment brought a smile to your face and perhaps even a touch of healing. Laughter truly has the power to mend and connect us. Stay tuned for next week’s chapter as we continue unraveling this story—there’s so much more to uncover! Please feel free to leave your comments or a short story of your own.